Curved Like a Road Through Mountains
by rentchica10
Summary: A series of loosely connected stories following mostly Brian and Justin, but also sometimes the rest of the group, from early season 2 through  and possibly beyond  the rest of the series. Title is part of a quote from A Streetcar Named Desire.
1. Sleep

Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk or any of its characters; they belong to Showtime, Ron Cowen, Daniel Lipman, etc.

A/N: So, I recently finished watching all five seasons of QAF, and can't get the characters out of my head. I didn't want to write about something that had already been written about a lot, however, so I decided to try something different. Each chapter in this series is based on one of the prompts from 64 damn prompts by rashaka over at LiveJournal. I'm going to go in order, mostly, but will skip prompts if they don't inspire me at all and may occasionally do some out of order. Also, the story will start around the beginning of Season 2 (mainly because that's when I started to ship Brian and Justin) and continue on chronologically from there. I won't do anything that I think seems completely out of canon unless and until I get to the end of the series. Reviews, especially questions and constructive criticism are always appreciated.

Prompt: 1. 2am

It's 2 am, and Justin can't sleep. Or rather, he won't sleep, because he's afraid that if he does, he'll just have another nightmare. He knows that if he does, Brian will wake up, put his arms around him, and tell him that everything's going to be okay, but as nice as being held by Brian is, Justin doesn't want to have to go through the pain and terror of the nightmares to get there. He also doesn't want Brian to keep feeling like he has to take care of him – he's always prided himself on being strong and independent, and he'd like to maintain that façade for as long as possible.

So instead of relaxing into Brian's arms, he quietly slides out of bed and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door so that the sound of the faucet turning on and Justin splashing water on his face won't wake Brian up. He pauses for a moment at the sink to steady himself before heading to the kitchen to look for something, anything caffeinated to keep him up for the next few hours. The nagging voice somewhere in the back of his mind tells him that he can't stay awake forever, but he does his best to push it away, at least for tonight. He finally finds some instant coffee that Brian clearly forgot about, as it was shoved to the back of one of the cupboards, and makes himself a cup. He spends the next half an hour pacing around the loft, trying in vain to make himself forget about what happened. His mind, however, betrays him – makes him hear the crack of the bat in every creak of a floorboard, see Chris Hobbes' face in every shadow, feel his life slipping away every time he touches something cold and hard, like the cement floor of the parking garage. It's been over a month since he got out of the hospital, and two and a half months since the attack, so why can't he just get over it? He realizes he has stopped walking and begins again, wondering if he'll ever be able to lead a normal life after the bashing, one where he can brush up against someone in the street without shuddering, one where he can draw for more than a few minutes at a time without his hand cramping up, one where he'll stop feeling like a victim and start being a normal human being.

"Justin?" he hears Brian's voice ask from the bed. Shit, he didn't mean to wake him up. "Where'd you go?"

"I…couldn't sleep," Justin hesitates, finally deciding on a version of the truth.

"You mean you wouldn't sleep," Brian replies with a tone that forbids any argument.

"Why do you have to always be so fucking insightful?" Justin asks without moving any closer.

"It's part of my charm," he replies, not missing a beat. "Come back to bed." But Justin can't do that – he feels as though his feet are glued to the spot on the floor right behind Brian's very expensive couch. So instead Brian gets out of bed and crosses the loft in three big steps, placing a hand gently on Justin's shoulder and forcing him to turn around and face him.

"Look at me, Justin. Are you looking at me?" Brian asks. Justin slowly forces his head up and looks directly at Brian, his bright blue eyes expressing every emotion, from fear to guilt to exhaustion to vulnerability to anger, that he's been feeling and trying to hide ever since the bashing.

"I'm looking at you," he replies defiantly, with a tremor in his voice so slight that only someone who knew him as well as Brian would catch it.

"It hasn't been that long. It's okay to still be scared. It's okay to still have nightmares."

"No it's not! It's not okay!"

"So what's your plan – stay awake until you pass out from exhaustion?"

"No," Justin retorts, although until this moment, that is about as far as his plan has gotten. "Maybe I'll sleep during the day, and the nightmares won't be so bad then. I'll just take night shifts at the diner."

"Yeah, which will work great for the next couple of weeks until you start school," Brian replies sarcastically. Justin has to laugh at that notion.

"I can barely draw for ten minutes before my gimp hand freezes up. What do you think are the chances that that's going to change in time for me to start art classes?"

"You'll figure something out; you always do. You're not giving up the Institute of Fine Art, you're too good, and you're not going to waste that talent. Or give up on being the best homosexual you possibly can be."

"Why do you even give a shit? What does it matter to you if I fuck up my life?"

"Because I was there, remember? I was there when we danced together, and I could pretend that nothing else in my life mattered, because I could dance with you at prom and we could laugh and sing and kiss and shut out the world for a few minutes. And then I was there when he came out with the baseball bat, and when I was so angry I couldn't think straight, and so scared that you were going to die in my arms in that fucking godforsaken parking garage, and when I had to call 911 and wait for the longest five minutes of my life for the ambulance to come. So don't you dare try to tell me that I don't give a shit or that this doesn't involve me too!"

The two of them stand and stare at each other for a few minutes, both afraid to say or do anything that will set the other off. With anyone else, Justin knows he would start off by saying he's sorry, but Mr. "no apologies, no regrets" Kinney wouldn't like that very much. So instead, he tries for some brutal honesty.

"I hate them. I hate having to relive the bashing, I hate that everything reminds me of it, I hate that you feel like you have to take care of me, and I hate that you feel guilty about what happened."

"They'll go away eventually. And I don't feel like I have to take care of you. You would do the same thing for me."

"If you'd ever let me," Justin points out. Brian sighs, knowing he's onto him, once again.

"Fine, would it make you feel better if I told you the next time I had a nightmare?"

"You have nightmares? About what happened to me?" Justin asks, surprised.

"I told you, it didn't just happen to you…and yes," Brian admits reluctantly, only doing it so that Justin will stop this ridiculous attempt to stay awake indefinitely.

"Yes, it would. It might also make me feel better if you stopped feeling like the bashing was your fault," Justin replies. They stare at each other again, Brian still unable to voice how much he wishes he hadn't come to the prom, how much he wishes Justin would be whole and well and innocent…well, at least semi-innocent again. But Justin knows anyway, although he won't push his luck tonight. He knows how much it took for Brian to talk as much about the bashing as he just has.

"Well it would make me feel better if you would come back to bed and go to sleep."

"Okay," says Justin softly.

"Okay," says Brian in return, and he leans in for a gentle kiss as he takes Justin's hand and walks with him back to their bed as partners…although God knows, it will take him quite a while to use that last word even to himself.


	2. Orientation

Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk or any of its characters; they belong to Showtime, Ron Cowen, Daniel Lipman, etc.

A/N: The prompt for this chapter is number 3 in the list, Sky. It takes place about two weeks after the first chapter, sometime early Season 2 before Justin starts school.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Justin said for approximately the millionth time that week.

"Someone has to make sure that you go to all the important lectures about not partying too much, staying away from drugs and alcohol, focusing on your studies…" Brian trailed off as he lazily drove into the parking lot of the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts admissions office.

"Not fucking around?" Justin added mock-helpfully.

"No, I think even the old fuddy-duddy professors encourage that one. Another good reason for me to come with you – maybe I'll find some fresh blood here."

"Since you've already fucked every trick at Babylon?"

"Not _every_ trick, just the hot ones," Brian replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

Justin laughed and rolled his eyes. "C'mon, let's get going. We don't want orientation to start without us."

After six hours of meetings, lectures, tours, and registration, Justin and Brian finally left campus and started heading back to the loft.

"Do you wanna grab a bite to eat before we go back?" Justin asked, careful not to use the word "home" just yet.

"Sure, whatever. Where do you want to go?" Brian responded distractedly.

"Um, how about that new Indian place down the street?"

"Okay." They passed the rest of the drive in silence until Brian pulled the Jeep into a spot a few doors down from the restaurant.

"You're uncharacteristically quiet, Brian," Justin commented as they each got out and started walking down the block.

"Just thinking," Brian said with a touch of sadness in his voice.

"Always a dangerous endeavor," Justin replied, smirking.

"Using my own lines against me?"

"You've taught me well."

"Table for two?" the hostess, whose name tag read Sahila, asked brightly, interrupting their banter. "There will be one available inside in about 20 minutes, or I can seat you on the patio now."

Justin knew that normally Brian would rather wait hours than do something so potentially "romantic" as eating outside, where dirt might get on his expensive Italian shoes or the wind might mess up his perfectly styled hair. But the way things had been going, he figured this was as good of a time as any to press his luck.

"It's pretty nice out tonight, we'll eat on the patio," Justin told Sahila.

"Excellent. Follow me, gentlemen," she said.

When they sat down, Brian immediately picked up his menu to start deciding on a drink, but Justin pushed it back down onto the table.

"Okay, what has gotten into you? You voluntarily come to my college orientation, you don't protest at all when I ask to go out to eat, just the two of us, which could look suspiciously like a date, and you're sitting outside without caring about how the summer breeze will mess up your look. What the hell is wrong?"

"Nothing the hell is wrong," Brian snapped. "And I thought you'd like all of those things."

"I do. I'm not complaining about the behaviors, I'm concerned about the state of mind that preceded them."

"What are you, my psychiatrist? Just let me order something to drink and leave my state of mind the fuck alone."

"If I thought I could convince you to talk to someone else, I would. But Michael will just give in and Debbie will talk more than she'll listen, so you're stuck with me."

"What makes you think I need to talk to anyone not named Jim Beam?" Brian asked sardonically.

"Because that's what normal people do when they have problems, Brian, they talk about them with their friends."

"Are we friends?"

"I don't know what the hell we are, but we're something, and I'm the only one who's going to keep pushing hard enough to get anything out of you."

Brian smirked briefly at the double entendre before staring intensely at Justin, hoping he would break first but knowing from the past year that it was unlikely.

"The summer before I went to college contained one of those brief periods where my father was trying to get sober and my mother was pretending to believe that this time would be different," Brian began slowly as he looked down at the table, unable to meet Justin's eyes just yet. "I knew that wasn't true, but I was stupid enough to believe that it might last until I left for school. The night before my orientation they got into a fight; he stormed off to a bar and she locked herself in the bathroom. Claire was already out of the house, and I wasn't about to call her anyway, so I got up early, took my old man's credit card, and walked to the bus stop, hoping there would be one headed to State College. When I got there, Debbie was sitting on a bench," he snickered, "holding two bus tickets, just waiting for me."

"She does have that knack for knowing what you need even before you do, doesn't she?" Justin added. Brian nodded silently, his hazel eyes growing dark for a moment before continuing,

"Anyway, since your dad's an asshole and I knew you'd think Jennifer was too busy with work and your sister to take time off, I figured I'd go with you instead."

Justin took Brian's hand under the table and squeezed it quickly. "Thank you," he replied. He knew how much it had taken for Brian to say all of that, and he appreciated even more the unspoken subtext – that Brian hadn't wanted him to experience the feeling that he wasn't important enough for anyone to bother with, and that Brian wanted to be that person who knew what he needed without having to be asked.

"For what?" Brian replied, quickly reforming his emotional mask.

"For coming to dinner with me."

"Yeah, and what the fuck are we doing sitting outside, anyway?"

"We can look up at the sky while we're waiting," Justin replied matter-of-factly.

"That is so pathetic," Brian responded with his typical refrain.

"It's not pathetic, it's grounding." At that Brian raised his eyebrows but kept his mouth shut. "The sky is always there…no matter where you are, or what you're doing, or who you're with, it always stays the same."

The two men sat in silence for a just a moment, looking up at the stars in the sky.

"So does Babylon," Brian pointed out. Justin just laughed.

"As soon as we finish eating, we'll go back, take a shower, get changed, and head out, then."

Brian's eyes flicked upward one more time before the waitress came by, leaned over, and whispered in Justin's ear, "You're welcome."


	3. Freaky

Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk or any of its characters; they belong to Showtime, Ron Cowen, Daniel Lipman, etc.

A/N: The prompt for this one was #4, Lost scene. It took me a while to decide on one, but I finally went with the scene that could have come after the one in which Michael invites Brian to Comic-con. At the beginning of the scene, Brian tells Michael that he has to get home soon because "Justin still gets a little freaky when he's on his own for too long." This chapter explores what happens after Brian gets back to the loft. Also, it takes place the day after the last chapter. Enjoy!

"Justin?" Brian calls out as he unlocks his front door and slides it over. It's not just that he always gets slightly worried that something will have happened to Justin while he's away, but also that he doesn't want to startle him by coming in without letting him know. It's hard for Brian to know for sure at this point what will awaken some subconscious memory of the bashing and what Justin will brush off as nothing.

"Hey," Justin replies without looking up. He is completely absorbed in his drawing, despite being frustrated that the sketch is taking him three times as long as it normally would due to the fact that he has to stop every ten minutes and let his hand rest. Plus, he has to erase a lot more often than normal since his hand tends to jerk across the page when he's least expecting it. Brian makes his way over to the stool that Justin has pulled up next to the window in the living room and puts his arms around him, kissing the spot right where his neck meets his shoulder blade. Justin sets his sketchbook down and twists his head around to give Brian a real kiss, one that deepens and lasts longer than Justin had expected.

"Wow, you must really have missed me at Woody's tonight," Justin comments when the kiss finally breaks.

"It's just not the same when I'm the only one doing all the mocking," Brian says sarcastically and sighs. Justin responds with something halfway between a laugh and a groan as he tries in vain to stop his hand from cramping up.

"Being at orientation really made me realize how much I need to draw again, but I don't know how I'm going to make it through all my work if it takes this long to do a simple sketch."

"It's pretty good for-" Brian begins.

"Someone who just got his head bashed in?" Justin finishes bitterly.

"I was going to say, for just a 'simple sketch,'" Brian replies, correcting his misinterpretation. He walks around to face Justin and pulls him off of the stool and on to the couch. "Stop being so hard on yourself. It's going to take time," he says as he sits down next to him and begins massaging Justin's aching right hand.

"I don't have time!" Justin responds angrily. He pauses, calms down from his outburst, then "Sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you. I know you're trying to help."

"Sorry's bullshit. You get to be angry about what happened, just don't let it ruin your work or your life. Prove to Chris Hobbes that he didn't win because you're still creating fucking amazing art."

At that, Justin finally smiles that textbook Sunshine smile. "You think I'm fucking amazing, huh?"

"I said your _art_ was fucking amazing, not you." But Brian begins to smile as well, that goofy grin that only appears when Justin's around.

"Just admit it – you love me, you want to kiss me and hold me and tell me-" At that, Brian shuts Justin up the only way he knows how. He grabs the back of Justin's neck, threading his fingers through his hair, and kisses him hard as he leans him back until Brian is lying on top of him on the sofa. Justin's hands reach around him, pushing into his back and pulling his shirt over his head at the same time. Brian does the same with Justin's sweater, once again not caring that his clothes are quickly being scattered all over the not-entirely-clean floor. They each remove their own pants and briefs as rapidly as they are able, then resume making out, lips and tongues colliding frantically. The other night they made love, Brian admits, if only to himself, but tonight they're fucking, fast and furious. After what seems like forever but is probably less than a minute, Brian kisses his way down Justin's chest and takes his dick into his mouth. Justin immediately leans his head back and moans.

"Oh…ah, ah…Brian!" Justin screams when Brian takes all of him into his throat. Brian grins quickly as his tongue continues to roam around Justin's cock, pleased with his ability to still make Justin cry out just as he did the first time they fucked.

After he comes, Justin lies on the couch, breathless, while he waits for Brian to go get a condom and lube from the bedroom. When he hears his footsteps nearing him, he readies himself to roll over on Brian's command, but instead he feels Brian lift his legs up onto his shoulders before he puts the condom and lube on himself.

"Who says Brian Kinney can't do compromise?" he thinks to himself. This may be fucking, but it's going to be face to face. Even more surprising, as he feels the tip of Brian's cock edging inside him, Brian leans down to kiss him – not simply a quick, need-to-feel-something peck, but a full-fledged, I-want-and-need-you-only kiss that continues as Brian starts thrusting in and out, going faster and faster. Brian's hands run through Justin's hair and hold his face, while Justin's roam up and down Brian's back and grab his ass, pushing him farther and farther inside him. When Brian comes he collapses on top of Justin and they both lie there for a moment, waiting for their breathing to return to normal before either of them can speak.

"That was…" Justin trails off, unable to finish his thought.

"Fucking amazing?" Brian asks, grinning.

"Yeah," Justin laughs, reaching a hand up to his forehead to wipe away some of the sweat. Brian's face suddenly turned serious.

"So are you. Don't let your pain and anger make me regret convincing you to go to art school instead of Dartmouth."

"Can I quote you on that?" Justin asks cheekily.

"Absolutely not. I'll deny I ever said such a thing to anyone who asks," Brian replies, only half kidding. "C'mon, let's go to bed." As they pull themselves up off the couch and stagger into the bedroom, Brian subconsciously grabs Justin's right hand and starts massaging it again, wondering what else he can do to make things easier and when exactly it was that he started caring so much.

Comments? Questions? Suggestions? Let me know what you think!


	4. It hurt me, too

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Queer as Folk_ or any of the characters; they belong to Showtime, CowLip, etc.

Brian's POV

I may be a heartless bastard, but I'm not stupid. I know I push people away, keep them at arm's length. I show them just enough of myself to keep them around so that I'm not alone, and even if they do something that would hurt anyone else, I just pretend it doesn't matter long enough that it really doesn't. I remember talking about it in that Psych 101 class we had to take to fulfill some bullshit general education requirements at Penn State – remember, Linds? – how our actions don't just reflect our emotions, they also influence us to feel emotions; there's a reciprocity between feelings and actions. Guess it wasn't bullshit after all, since it's pretty much become my way of life. Nobody ever gets closer than one degree of separation, and that's just you and Mikey. Even Deb can be two degrees away, can go in the box labeled "Mikey's mom," despite the fact that she's more of a mom to me than Joan ever was.

"What about Justin?" Lindsay asked quietly.

Shit, I didn't realize I said all of that out loud. "How much have I had to drink tonight, Wendy?"

"Way too much, even for you, Peter. That's why I'm staying here and forcing you to eat greasy food until you sober up enough to get home, since I know you won't let me drive your Jeep."

"Definitely not," I managed to get out.

"I didn't think so. But you still didn't answer my question."

"I was hoping you'd forget you asked it."

"Not a chance. I'm not drunk, remember." I pause for a long time, not because I'm avoiding her question, but because I don't know how to answer it.

"Justin is…just Justin."

"He's not just another fuck, Brian. He means as much to you as Michael and I do, but in a different way. You let him into your loft, into your life – all of our lives – and even into your heart."

"I thought we'd established that I don't have a heart."

"That's bullshit and you know it. You didn't go to his prom because you wanted to 'recapture your lost youth,' you went because you care about him and you wanted to make him happy. And then he got bashed and you got your heart broken," Lindsay responded in that matter-of-fact way that annoys me so much because she's always right.

"It doesn't matter what I feel!" I shouted, slamming my hand down onto the bar. "He's the one who got bashed! I don't get to feel pain, I don't get to be upset, because whatever I feel, he has it a hundred times worse! It won't help me, and it certainly won't help him."

"You know, for someone with a big fancy degree in advertising, you don't seem to have much insight into your partner's mind. How do you know it won't help him? Maybe he needs to talk about what happened as much as you do. Maybe you could both help each other heal."

Again with the "I know something you don't" voice, I thought.

"Have you been talking to him? And since when is he my partner?" I asked sharply.

"He needs someone to talk to, and even if you don't say anything, he notices how much it upsets you to talk about the bashing, so he won't ask you to. And he can be your partner, Brian, if you'll let him be. I'm sure he'd much rather be talking to you than to me." Taking my silence as an invitation to continue, Lindsay added, "It's not unreasonable that the bashing hurt you too. You may not have any physical scars, but you should know as well as anyone that they're not the only kind that matter."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not stupid either. I can read between the lines when you talk about your childhood, your relationship with Debbie, how you approach the world. That attitude didn't come out of nowhere."

"What are you, my fucking shrink?"

"No, I'm your friend, and I'm Justin's friend, and I don't want to see either of you get hurt."

"It's a little late for that," I replied pointedly.

"Then don't hurt each other more than you've already been hurt. You can't control other people, but you can control yourselves."

"Yeah, I can never put myself in that situation again," I replied bitingly.

"And never let yourself be happy again?"

"I was perfectly happy before Justin came along!"

"You're right, you were." Wow, I hadn't really expected Lindsay to agree with me on that one. "And you'll be happy again someday if you make him leave." And the surprises just keep on coming. "But do you want to be just 'perfectly happy?'" Ah, there's the famous wisdom I know and…sometimes love.

"Why not?"

"Because I've seen how you are with Justin – there's something more than just happiness, there's l-"

"Don't say it," I cut her off. I wasn't drunk enough for that conversation just yet.

"Fine," she sighed. "So where is Justin tonight?" she asked, purposely changing the tone of the conversation.

"He's helping Daphne set up her new dorm room."

"And you're here at Woody's drowning your sorrows."

"Thank you Captain Obvious," I replied sarcastically.

"Oh, the Kinney wit's back, you must be sobering up," Lindsay retorted, laughing.

"Yeah, I think I'm okay to drive home now," I said, hesitated, then added, "Thanks for tonight."

"You're welcome. Think about what I said," she replied as we walked out to our cars together.

"I will," I said, sliding into the Jeep. And I did. I thought about the bashing, about standing outside his hospital room every night for six weeks, about recreating his prom night, about dancing with him outside of Woody's the night before I had just attributed that to the 180 degree turn that the gay world seems to do during Pride, but maybe it had been more than that.

When I got back to the loft I found Justin sprawled out on the bed, half under the covers and half on top. I quickly stripped off my clothes and crawled in beside him.

"Hey, you're back," he said groggily.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," I replied.

"It's okay, I wasn't really asleep yet anyway. How was your night?"

"Well, it ended with me getting drunk at Woody's with Lindsay." Justin was apparently suddenly wide awake, as he stared laughing hysterically.

"Not exactly what I expected you to say," he managed to get out through his giggles. "How did that happen?"

"I don't actually remember," I admitted. "Most of the conversation is…" I trailed off, thinking about the part I did remember.

"Brian?" Justin queried, concerned. When I didn't say anything right away, he rolled onto his left side, put his head on my chest and draped his arm around me.

"I was terrified," I blurted out. Well, I guess I have to go through with this now, I thought. "For those three days when the doctors weren't sure if you were going to live or die. Michael was afraid to leave me alone, so whenever he had to leave the hospital he made Lindsay and Gus come over to sit with me. I was so screwed up, Sunshine. I think I'm still screwed up."

"It's okay. We can be screwed up together."

"It hurt me too," I stated softly.

"I know," Justin replied. "But I'm glad you know now, too."

**A/N:** I know this usually comes at the beginning, but I felt like this story needed to be told without any preamble or explanation. The prompt for this one was #5, Degrees, and although the first thing that came to mind was "degrees of separation," I thought it would be interesting to work in a couple of other meanings of the word degree, since it has so many. Also, for anyone who was confused, the paragraph at the beginning is (mostly) spoken out loud from Brian to Lindsay, but it's not in quotation marks because Brian doesn't realize he's speaking out loud at first. Finally, this scene takes place the night after Pride.

Thanks to everyone who favorited/story alerted this story, it means a lot! Please review and let me know how I'm doing, what I can improve on, and what you'd like to see next. Even though I'm working from a list of prompts, I'm always open to suggestions!


	5. Crash and Burn

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Queer as Folk, the characters, or any of the dialogue copied verbatim from the show – these things all belong to Showtime, CowLip, etc.

**A/N:** This one takes place during the end of episode 206, starting right after the conversation Deb has with Brian about Justin. I know I skipped 205, but as much as I enjoyed that episode, it didn't really seem to have any moments that needed filling in, and since I'd already talked about Justin's school and dealing with drawing with his "gimp hand," I didn't feel like there was any more I could say about those themes without being too repetitive. The prompt for this chapter was #6, Seize the day. I originally intended it just to be the first part, but as I was writing, I felt the need to show the later scene as well. I've tried to be as true to canon as possible, so let me know how well you think I did! Thanks so much to those who reviewed, it means more to me than you know!

The title comes from the Savage Garden song, which I think fits the plot and mood well. Listen while you read and see if you agree.

The walk from Woody's to Babylon could take less than a minute if someone was in a hurry. If, on the other hand, someone couldn't quite figure out how to casually demonstrate his affection to a certain other person without either pissing off said other person or coming right out and saying how he felt, the walk could take ages. There were all kinds of alleyways in which to wander about, dark corners in which to brood, and intersections at which to pause – and on one particular night, Brian Kinney discovered one of these excuses at least once every three seconds.

Though he had maintained a stoic face throughout it, his conversation with Debbie had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit, even to himself; but then, conversations with his surrogate mother tended to do that. He knew, had always known, that she saw through his bullshit more so even than Mikey did, but he wasn't prepared for her to say that he should tell Justin he loved him. He had expected her to yell at him, but not to become all sentimental and tell him how to fix it, whatever exactly it was that he had broken.

"Brian Kinney doesn't do 'I love you,'" he muttered to himself in alleyway stop number one of the night. He sighed deeply, trying to figure out how he had gotten to the point where he was even considering the fact that he might be in love with someone, let alone telling Justin how he felt.

"_Oh, I think it's adorable that he asked you! Despite the somewhat questionable age difference between you and the fact that emotionally he's twelve years your senior…"_

"…_and I definitely don't want to grow old with Melanie – or anyone else."_

"_What do you want?"_

"_This."_

"_It's very beautiful." _

It was the scarf, he decided. It had all started when he had bought that damn scarf while shopping with Lindsay. The scarf that, after it failed to be used for scarfing, was next put to use as part of a very sophisticated prom night ensemble. But of course, Brian couldn't put all of the blame on the scarf, no matter how much he used it to hold onto the pain and suffering of that night, to keep Justin and any feelings related to him locked up while simultaneously reminding him of his guilt about the bashing.

"_I thought you said you wouldn't be caught dead in a room full of eighteen year olds."_

"_I thought I'd recapture my lost youth."_

He shook his head hard as if to clear his mind of all thought and emotion, then walked across the alley to the next street corner. Unfortunately, his mind trick hadn't worked, and he could still remember how excited he had felt as he looked at the clock after Mikey had left, realized there were probably still two or more hours left in Justin's prom, and quickly took a shower, got dressed, and drove to the hotel where the dance was being held. What the hell, he had thought, on a day that he had always thought would be the end of his life, he might as well give someone else a little happiness. What he hadn't counted on, however, until the music started playing and he began to dance with Justin, was how happy it would make him, too.

"_Did you see their faces?"_

"_Yeah, we gave them a prom they'll never forget."_

"_Me neither. It was the best night of my life."_

"_Even if it was ridiculously romantic."_

He had said the words mockingly, because that's what he did with anything that involved romance, love, or relationships, but when he had looked into Justin's eyes he knew that he wasn't fooling anyone. That realization had given him pause before he leaned in to give Justin a soft kiss tonight. He had assumed that after Justin went back in and finished dancing to current teen-friendly music with Daphne for the last hour of their prom, he would come over to the loft and they'd fuck each other's brains out until the sun came up, or they died of exhaustion, whichever came first.

Shit, Brian thought to himself as he leaned up against the wall of a currently unopened store less than a block from Babylon, hoping he was hidden in the shadows. Even after an out-of-character romantic formal dance, all he had wanted to do was spend the rest of the night alone with Justin. Of course, he would never know what that night would have been like, but he had never imagined it as anything deeper than hot, sweaty fucking. Making love, though he would never admit it to Justin or anyone else, hadn't crossed his mind until several months later.

"_I want you inside me."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Yeah. Just take it easy."_

"_Like the first time?"_

As much as he tried to push his feelings aside, Lindsay and Debbie were right – he did love Justin, in whatever way it was possible for him to do. He would tell anyone that his feelings didn't matter, whether those feelings were love, affection, sorrow, or guilt. The only thing that mattered was that Justin got better, and if that meant that the king of "getting out with the maximum of pleasure and the minimum of bullshit" had to have sex slowly and gently, had to hold his partner's hand and kiss him deeply, had to lay unmoving with his body completely surrounding Justin's, then so be it. The problem, unfortunately, was that, just as he had told Lindsay about his typical behavioral patterns, these romantic behaviors seemed to be causing romantic feelings that Brian was powerless to stop.

And in that moment, Brian suddenly knew what he was going to tell Justin. He just hoped that he would understand without an explanation that Brian knew he would be unable to give. As soon as he entered Babylon, he climbed the stairs to give him a better vantage point for locating Justin. He then casually walked down and over to where Justin was dancing.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Hey, fuck off."

"What do you want?" Justin asked indignantly, which Brian supposed he had every right to do.

"You were right. The reason I took you in was because you took a bat to the head, but it's not the reason I want you to stay. But don't get the idea that we're some married couple, because we're not. We're not like fucking straight people. We're not like your parents, and we're not a pair of dykes marching down the aisle in matching Vera Wangs. We're queers, and if we're together, it's because we want to be, not because there's locks on our doors. So if I'm out late, just assume it's because I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing – I'm fucking. And when I come home, I'll also be doing exactly what I want to do – coming home to you." Although his voice sounded calm, inside Brian was still slightly terrified to find out what Justin was going to say in response – and to figure out what he was going to do if he didn't say something good.

"Okay, I want some things too. You can fuck whoever you want, as long as it's not twice. Same for me. And no names or numbers exchanged. And no matter where you are, no matter what you're doing, you always come home…by 2."

"4," Brian countered, all the while knowing that so far, Justin's reaction had been better than it could have been and that if he pushed on this one, Brian would give in.

"3. One more thing: You don't kiss anyone else on the mouth but me."

It might not have been his typical m.o. for tricks, but it was certainly a restriction he could live with. In reply, he leaned in and kissed Justin deeply on the mouth. Yeah, this was definitely something he could live with.

Back at the loft a couple of hours later, Justin found himself flat on his back on the bed. Or rather, he found himself with his back arched up and his head thrown back, because that tended to be his involuntary reaction to getting his dick sucked, especially by Brian Kinney. As he felt Brian's tongue lick up the underside of his cock and then take it into his mouth inch by inch one last time, all rational thought seemed to disappear for a moment. When Brian finally did that thing with his tongue that he knew drove Justin crazy – one of the many benefits of having sex with someone more than once that they both loved but only Justin would ever say out loud – he finally came as they both collapsed back onto the bed and into each other. As they lay there in their post-orgasmic high, Justin's head on Brian's chest and Brian's arm around Justin's shoulders, Justin felt like Brian had opened up enough tonight that he dared to ask the question that had been rolling around in his head for the past few days.

"So, the other night, when you said my bashing hurt you too…do you wanna talk about it?" Justin held his breath, hoping he hadn't pushed too far.

"No," Brian said simply.

"Okay," Justin replied.

"Okay?" Brian asked incredulously. "That's it? You're just going to drop it?"

"I don't want to push you on this. If you want to talk about it, that's fine, but if not, that's fine too. I just wanted to let you know that you could."

"Oh." After a few minutes of silence, Brian continued. "I'd never actually seen anyone get bashed before. Not…not like that. I've seen people get mocked, made fun of, had practical jokes played on them, even punched or slapped, but not… I really think that Chris Hobbes wanted to kill you. I thought you were going to die. And there was nothing I could do about it."

"You really can't stand not being in control, can you?"

"It's not just that, it's…dammit!" Brian shouted, suddenly removing his arm from underneath Justin and sitting straight up in bed, his hands balled into fists by his hips.

"Ssh, it's okay," Justin replied quickly, sitting up behind him and placing his hands on his well-defined shoulder blades and beginning to massage his back. "I know what you mean."

And, Justin thought as they both sat there in silence for a few minutes, he did know what Brian meant – somehow, he always did, no matter how few words were actually spoken between the two of them. He knew that some of those things had happened Brian, some to Michael, and maybe some to other people that he didn't know. He knew that after a childhood he barely survived, being in control was the only way Brian knew how to exist, and it made him feel proud but also scared that he could break through that need, and bad that his bashing had made him regret giving it up. He also knew that there was more to how hurt he was than that, but he was okay with Brian not telling him everything right then. He had given him enough for one night.

And then, Brian turned around and kissed him, and as usual, it said more than a whole conversation's worth of words ever could.


End file.
